B006K5TA1E EBOK

by Collins, Yvonne

  “You can’t see the spores, but by this time next week your toenails will turn yellow and fall off.”

  I drop the skate. “Gross!”

  “Oh, come on… Think about how much you’ll save on pedicures.”

  I nudge the skates toward him with my boot. “Take them back.”

  “I’m kidding,” he says. “No one gets fungus from skates.”

  “Especially if she doesn’t put them on.”

  Kneeling before me, he takes my boot off and puts a skate on my right foot. I’m too stunned to resist.

  In no time at all he has me laced up and ready to go. “There you go, Cinderella,” he says, sitting beside me again. “A perfect fit.”

  I’d prefer the glass slipper, but every prince has his own style.

  As soon as his skates are tied, Joey helps me to my feet, and I follow him reluctantly to the ice. Stepping on the smooth surface, he turns to face me.

  “I don’t think I can,” I say, clinging to the rail.

  “Take my hand.”

  It’s an offer I can’t refuse. No sooner do both blades hit the ice, however, than they shoot out from under me at perilous angles. Joey grabs me under my arms seconds before my butt connects with the ice. My scream startles him so much that he almost drops me.

  After getting me balanced again, he lets go. This time I stay upright, if only because I refuse to budge.

  A big guy brushes past me and says, “Get your girlfriend out of the doorway, buddy.”

  Joey glares after the guy. “Idiot.”

  I barely have time to wonder whether it’s the guy’s tone or the word “girlfriend” that irks Joey, before he turns around in front of me and takes both my hands in his. Skating backward slowly, he begins to pull me around the rink.

  After the first lap I exclaim, “I’m skating!” and Joey has the decency not to point out that being towed doesn’t quite qualify. Instead he takes me around again before letting go and suggesting that I try moving my feet.

  “It’s not like walking,” he says, after my first flailing attempt. “Keep your blades in contact with the ice. Lean on your left foot and push off with the right.”

  I follow his instructions and move forward a few inches. Repeating the process with my other foot, I move forward a few inches more. Joey continues to skate backward in front of me, cheering me on. With my ankles turned in, my butt stuck out, and my arms outstretched, I’m far from hot, but at least I’m moving.

  “You’re working too hard,” he says. “Just glide.”

  Some girls glide through life, but unfortunately Lu Perez is not one of them. I thrash and flail and flounder.

  A group of guys whizzes past, and Joey turns to watch them with a look of longing.

  “Why don’t you do a few laps on your own?” I ask, releasing his hands.

  Joey’s eyes light up. “Are you sure?”

  I nod, knowing that skating with me is like walking down the street with Keira. It takes twenty minutes to cover half a block, and by the time we’re done, I’m exhausted.

  Joey takes off, and I continue my awkward shuffle around the rink, ankles aching and toes going numb. Every time he passes, Joey gives me a cheery wave, and I wave back just as cheerily, all the while plotting my escape.

  Before I can accomplish it, Joey skates up behind me, puts his hands on my hips, and starts pushing. At first I’m nervous, but as we pick up speed and the wind lifts my hair, I start to feel like Kate Winslet on the ship’s prow in Titanic—only less cheesy.

  As it turns out, with the right person behind her, sometimes a plodder gets to fly.

  Joey’s eyes widen as I wash down a chocolate-chip cookie with hot chocolate.

  “Most girls I go out with don’t eat,” he says.

  I wipe whipped cream off my lip with a napkin. “They’re alive, right?”

  “Usually. And obsessed with calories.”

  “Think about how many I burned on the ice today.”

  He snickers. “You barely moved.”

  “Are you saying I’m fat?” It’s a dangerous question for a first date, but he had his hands on my hips earlier, so there’s not much left to hide.

  “I’m saying that it’s nice you’re comfortable enough with me to be yourself.”

  I watch as he picks up his own cookie, crams the entire thing into his mouth, and chews. “I guess I could say the same about you.”

  “What you see is what you get,” he mumbles around the cookie.

  That might be true of him, but it’s not entirely true of me. If I were really being myself, I’d have put the kibosh on skating, tradition or no tradition. “So just how many non-eaters have you gone out with?”

  He gives me a knowing glance. “I’m not as popular as some people. You’ve got guys hanging around all the time.”

  Even if I wanted to pretend I’m a hot commodity, someone already destroyed that notion. “Well, like Paz said, they’re history.”

  Joey puts his elbows on the table and leans toward me. “Did I mention I love history?”

  I put my own elbows on the table, flipping a saucer over with a clatter. “It’s my favorite subject too. Well, tied with English.”

  He wrinkles his nose. “English? Really?”

  “Sure. What’s not to like about mythology? Everyone’s running around in disguise doing whatever they want. Did you know that Athena turned Arachne into a spider because she bragged too much? I’d love to have that power.” I scrape the last of the whipped cream from my mug before adding, “If I were Athena, Mariah would be in big trouble.”

  Laughing, Joey says, “Remind me not to cross you. You’ve got a vengeful streak.”

  I steer the conversation in a safer direction. “What are you going to do after graduation?”

  Joey leans back in his chair. “Not sure yet. I don’t want to work in a factory for the rest of my life, but I may have to for a couple of years to save for tuition. That buys me some time to figure out what I want to do.”

  “I thought you loved architecture.”

  “I do. But urban planning would be interesting too. Which reminds me…” He checks his watch. “Drink up, Athena, we have somewhere to be in an hour.”

  “Wow.” That’s the only word that comes to mind as I take in the view from the open-air observatory in the John Hancock Center, ninety-four floors above street level. Beneath us, the city stretches as far as the eye can see, and its buildings, lit by the setting sun, glow against a blue-black sky.

  Joey leans close to my ear so that I can hear him over the wind that’s whipping through the open skywalk and says, “See, I told you Chicago is beautiful.” His cheek brushes lightly against mine as he adds, “You’re freezing! Put your hat on.”

  “Actually, I didn’t bring it,” I confess. “I didn’t want to mess up my hair.”

  Had I known we’d be scaling Mount Hancock I’d have made a different choice. My hair is not only whipping in my face, but Joey’s as well. He plucks at a few strands that have circled his throat like tentacles.

  “You mean you lied to me already?” he asks.

  I didn’t actually say I had my hat, but there’s no point quibbling. “Well, I wanted to look good. You should be flattered.”

  “Believe me, I am,” he says, pulling off his own hat and placing it on my head. Then he wraps his arm around me. “Better?”

  Looking up at him I see the city reflected as pinpoints of light in his dark eyes. It’s such a romantic ending to a perfect day that I’m inspired to rise up on tiptoe and kiss him. He kisses me back with cool lips that grow warmer instantly. There’s an odd, hollow feeling in my chest that comes either from being so bold or from being ninety-four floors above civilization with oxygen in short supply.

  Joey doesn’t say a word when it’s over. Instead he pulls me closer, and his hands find their way under my jacket and around my waist. Although he’s wearing gloves, I can feel the heat of his hands through my T-shirt.

  I close my eyes for a moment, and
when I open them, Joey is pointing at the first star twinkling above us. “Make a wish,” he says.

  I try to think of one, but for the moment there’s not a single request on my list.

  …there was a misguided columnist who was so insecure about his own manhood that he had to demean someone who is, in fact, a prince among men. It’s tempting to speculate about what Scoop is overcompensating for with his big theories and big accusations. But I don’t have to go there. It’s pretty obvious that Scoop’s got a little something to hide.

  Newshound’s prince is definitely not gay, unless you’re referring to the old-fashioned sense of the word. If you mean “happy,” of course he is. He’s won the affections of his queen, and so far he’s satisfied with that.

  Prince Newshound doesn’t need sex to prove he’s attractive and desirable. He knows that a meaningful relationship always transcends the merely physical. That’s the difference between a real man and a boy who’s still chasing tail around the school yard.

  My co-columnist clearly feels threatened because Prince Newshound is everything he is not. I don’t expect a small mind like yours to grasp this easily, Scoop, so I’ll help you out here: you say you don’t want a committed relationship and that you want to play the field. I say you wouldn’t be so down on Prince Newshound if that were really true. If you were the prince of your lady’s kingdom rather than the court jester, you’d be more positive.

  Face it, you want a real relationship, but with a personality like yours you probably can’t keep a girl around long enough to have one. I’m guessing you’ve been dumped so often that you’ve become scarred and cynical.

  Don’t waste your next column arguing that you’ve done all the dumping. A preemptive dump doesn’t count. It just means that you sensed someone was going to offload you and beat her to the punch.

  If you’re wounded and suffering, I feel for you, Scoop. Newshound isn’t wholly without compassion. But she wants you to understand that experiencing a real relationship requires being open to it. That means letting down your blustery, chauvinistic guard and being yourself.

  Friends with benefits might be easier and more exciting, but too much of a bad thing doesn’t work. Just ask Morgan McGee, who lost yesterday’s hot dog contest after eating so many wieners that he threw up on a cheerleader’s sneakers.

  The moral of this story is don’t be a wiener, Scoop. No girl worth having will ever choose empty calories over prime beef.

  “God of Wieners?” Izzy asks, as we rush down the hall toward Mr. Sparling’s classroom.

  “Izzy!” We have a quiz today and we’re supposed to be testing each other on Zeus and Hera’s family tree.

  “Okay, okay. God of War?”

  “Ares,” I answer. “Goddess of the Harvest?”

  “Demeter,” Izzy says. “Whose daughter was…?”

  “Aphrodite?”

  “Wrong. But it’s no surprise you’ve got the Goddess of Love on your mind.”

  Rachel laughs. “More like the Goddess of Lust.”

  “I think I’m the only one feeling it,” I say. “Joey’s walked me home almost every night this week, but he hasn’t touched me since Saturday.”

  “What happened to meaningful relationships transcending the physical?” Izzy teases.

  “Good in theory,” I respond. “But the absence of anything physical is making me wonder if Joey is even interested.”

  Maybe you should make the first move,” Rachel suggests.

  “I did that, remember? It’s his turn.”

  The uncertainty is driving me crazy. Although I profess to be the slow and steady type in my column, it turns out that I’m as impatient as anyone else, at least where Joey is concerned. I want to know how he feels, and I want to know now. After all, I put myself right out there on the ninety-fourth floor, and if he’s not into me, it’s going to be a very long drop.

  “He kissed you back,” Rachel persists.

  “Yeah, but come on… He’s a guy. What really matters is the follow-up.”

  “Give him a chance.”

  I sigh. “I shouldn’t have been so aggressive.”

  “It was just a kiss. It’s not like you proposed.” Rachel turns to Izzy for support. “Right, Izzy?”

  “I don’t know what to think anymore,” Izzy replies. “I made the first move with Carson, and where is he now?”

  After leading Izzy on for a month, Carson showed up at last week’s talent show fund-raiser with his ex-girlfriend. We watched in horror as the girl slid her hand into the back pocket of Carson’s jeans during Mariah’s performance. Since Carson didn’t object, that’s where it stayed for the next half hour. Poor Izzy didn’t say much, but she went home that night and dyed her hair back to its natural color. I wouldn’t have believed any guy could reduce Izzy to mousy brown, but Carson managed it.

  “You could ask one of the psychics at the mystic fair today,” Rachel says. “Or you could give me the five bucks and trust me that Carson is in the cold, damp place all boyfriends go after turning back into frogs. Jason’s there too, remember?”

  Izzy and I are still laughing when a shout echoes through the hall. “Move or bleed, people, move or bleed!”

  One of Mariah’s Understudies charges around the corner, clapping her hands. Behind her the corridor fills with light, and Mariah dances into view. The other Understudy follows with an old boom box while four guys train lights and video cameras on our resident star.

  Izzy stops Understudy One. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re making Mariah’s promo video for YouTube,” she replies. “That way Solana G. can see what a perverse—”

  “Diverse!” Mariah corrects, advancing on us with her crew.

  Understudy One squints at her glittery notepad. “Right. Solana can see what a diverse and accomplished dancer Mariah is before they meet at the literacy gala.”

  “At which point she will beg me to be in her next video,” Mariah concludes, now beside us. Striking a pose, she flings both arms wide and knocks my bag off my shoulder. Then she steps over my scattered belongings and continues on her way.

  Stooping to collect my cell phone, I tell Izzy, “I just remembered Demeter’s daughter: it’s Persephone, Queen of the Underworld.”

  Joey and I near my apartment building, and I remind myself to be strong. He isn’t holding my hand and he hasn’t kissed me, and if that doesn’t change within the next ninety seconds, he’s going to find that this cold November day becomes positively arctic. Lu Perez is not desperate. She doesn’t wait around forever for a guy to make up his mind. And she doesn’t grope desperately for conversational topics trying to detain him so long that he cracks. Not this Lu Perez.

  Granted, the Lu Perez of yesterday had less pride. That Lu came up with at least a dozen lame excuses to keep Joey from leaving. It was completely transparent, and since he’s not stupid, he must have known. And if he did (know) and won’t (act on it), then he obviously isn’t (interested).

  Today will be different. When we arrive at the door, I’ll slow down just long enough to thank him for walking me home and then depart with a breezy good-bye.

  “It was nice of you to walk me home,” I say, which isn’t as breezy as I hoped. I’m practically shouting “Kiss me, kiss me.” Worse, my legs have stopped moving.

  “Any excuse to hang out with you,” Joey says.

  That’s pretty sweet. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to encourage him a little more. “I like hanging out with you too.”

  “Cool.”

  Cool? That’s the best he can do?

  “So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.

  I give up. “Sure. Bye.”

  Giving me a wave, he starts walking away. I let him take ten paces before calling after him, “It’s supposed to snow tomorrow.”

  He stops and turns. “It is?”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  Joey walks ten paces back to me. “Well, you’d better take this then.” He pulls off his hat and places it on my hea
d. “Wouldn’t want you to freeze.”

  “Thanks.” He’s still hanging on to the hat with both hands, so I add, “It’ll be kind of hard to get around, though, with you attached like that.”

  Joey smiles. “I was just thinking about kissing you.”

  I smile back. “Any decisions?”

  He uses the hat to pull me toward him, and this time when he kisses me, I get the same rush, as if I were ninety-four floors up with the wind howling underfoot. Maybe that’s what love feels like, but it’s not what I expected at all.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for days,” Joey says afterward.

  “Well, I’ve waited for you to do that for days.”

  “Really?” He sounds surprised. “I wasn’t sure I should. I mean, I didn’t want you to think this was the only reason I spend time with you.”

  “If I thought that, I wouldn’t have made the first move on the skywalk.”

  “Well, I’ve heard a beautiful sunset does strange things to a girl.”

  “You think I kissed you because I was moved by the view?”

  “I hypothesized a causal relationship. It certainly looked like A caused B.”

  “You’d better head back to the lab, Dr. Carella. The sun’s still up, yet I’m thinking about kissing you again.”

  “Hmmmm,” Joey says, scratching his chin. “Then we could be dealing with a correlation instead. Which is to say, A and B are related, but… how?” He pulls me close a second time. “I guess the only way to find out is more research.”

  I owe our readers an apology. When I suggested Newshound write a romance novel someday, I had no idea she’d inflict it on 9,000 students across six schools so soon.

  It would be sad if it weren’t so embarrassing. With all her talk of princes and queens, Newshound has exposed herself as delusional in a way I never could. Take another look at your last column, Newshound, and tell me you don’t want to take a big bite out of Snow White’s proverbial poisoned apple. Scoop will be relieved to have this space to himself.

  If you’re still with us, understand that I’m not jealous of your supposedly meaningful relationship, but I am worried enough about your neutered prince to send some knights to the rescue. Is he still dancing around your throne in a golden loincloth?